


Second Last Kisses

by apocahipster



Category: overwatch
Genre: M/M, but if u really want to read something short where hana is treated like an adult, but no one actually dies lemme just emphasis that, death mention, have u ever wanted to read a mchanzo fic without the mccree?, it has a rly cute ending, like this is mostly me writing about hanzo being a lil sad and hana being a pal, mccree has two lines, tada u found it, well this is THE FIC FOR YOU, which is happy funtimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:02:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8757262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocahipster/pseuds/apocahipster
Summary: McCree is away on a mission and Hanzo misses him.alt title; McCree isn't dead.





	

Hanzo was exactly where he was meant to be. This statement held true, even if he had to remind himself from time to time. The dark and loving eyes of McCree stared at him adoringly, frozen in time. His own face watched him too, red cheeks and nose from the overwhelming emotion he had been feeling at the time of the photo; however, at this given moment he ignored his own image.

The wedding photo had been on their beside table since the day it was taken four years ago. He wondered if McCree looked at it too, for comfort when it was Hanzo who was half a world away on a mission. It was one of his favourite photos. It was one he had stared at so often that if he tallied the time he had spent viewing it, he had probably clocked in several days’ worth.

His gaze finally drifted to a different part of the photo from his husband’s affectionate eyes to the hint of gold barely visible in the corner. Spotting it in the image, he absent-mindedly toyed with his real-life version of the wedding band, which sat comfortably on his finger.

Finally, he glanced at the clock, the 3:01AM convincing him that it was time to go to sleep. He flicked the light off, and snuggled under the blankets. To his right, the bed was empty. The man who was meant to be there was actively working, somewhere in the world. Around him would be broad daylight and Overwatch agents and the loud noise of civilians in a city life. Around Hanzo was night-time darkness, silence and an empty room.

Hanzo was not unhealthily dependent on McCree’s company, however the mission had gone for longer than expected. The news of a three-week extension had come to him that morning, after command had neglected to inform him of the one week extension on top of the four-week mission he had originally been informed of. He had prepared himself for four weeks away from his husband. When he was scheduled to reunite with McCree, it would be totalled to two months of separation.

He rolled over in the bed, facing away from McCree’s usual spot but facing towards the portrait which was barely visible in the industrially dark room. The base was a military one, with solid roller windows designed to block out literal explosions, so of course no light entered the room when they were shut at night. However, a monitor far in the corner of the room emitted a soft glow as it finished a program update. And then Hanzo spotted it. A fingerprint on the photo frame. Just below ‘Hanzo’s’ face. As if whoever made the print had intended to stoke his cheek. A smile crept across his lips, and Hanzo fell asleep peacefully.

 

Every time one would leave for a mission, McCree and Hanzo would spend several minutes conducting a goodbye ritual. While one checked their packed items and supplies, the other would be asking about when video calls could be made as soon as possible. Light touches would be exchanged as they moved about the room. Idle chat about what the weather will be like in the country they’re to be stationed in. It was all an intricate dance designed to avoid the true question on their mind. The question neither of them had the answer to. The most delicate part of the dance was their goodbye kiss. It was always slow, deep, and designed to take in every detail of each other. They savoured it and used it to appreciate every last inch of their lover. They would kiss like it was for the last time. Because that question always was, ‘Will you come back alive?’ And the answer was always out of their control and unknown.

Their lives were dangerous, and both McCree and Hanzo knew that any kiss they shared could be their last. But the burden of a ‘last kiss’ was far too heavy. It was too many words which needed saying, and too much emotion for one act. No kiss would truly be worthy of being their last. So then after their ‘last kiss’ they would follow that kiss with a quick one. A light one. One which was definitely not a fit definition for being their last kiss. And hopefully through dumb senseless logic, the universe would recognise this fact and ensure that it was not their last. 

Because they always wanted the answer to the question to be ‘yes,’ but want doesn’t make that answer true.

 

Two weeks into the three-week extension, Hanzo’s phone rang. It was not during the time of their scheduled call, so why was it ringing? He looked at the phone. It wasn’t McCree, it was Mercy. He took it in his hand, and realised that his hand was shaking. If he had been in the training range this wouldn’t be an issue. However, his body was not hyped up from combat energy. He was sitting in a garden, legs crossed with tea in front of him. He was waiting for Genji to return with incense so their meditation could commence. This was not a situation in which his body should be anxious at all.

He answered the call and listened to Mercy describe some symptoms of a cold. McCree had caught a flu. She, as a doctor, was informing McCree’s next of kin of his health. She, as a friend, was informing him that his husband might miss their next call as he should be sleeping.

When Genji returned, he asked Hanzo what was troubling him. He insisted he was fine, after all, everyone he cared about was safe. No one’s health was in danger.

Half an hour into their meditation, they took a break for tea, and once again his brother asked what was wrong. He once again insisted that he was fine.

Ten minutes into their next round of meditation, he excused himself, claiming that he wasn’t feeling right. Something was upsetting him; however, he was unsure of what. He insisted that Genji not worry. He didn’t like to make those he cared about worry unnecessarily.

He went to the base’s shooting range, hoping that exercise could tire him out and calm his body. He was alone in the training room. In the weapons closet he found an array of guns and a singular bow. None of the weapons in the shooting range belonged to a specific agent; these were communal and standard. He reached for the bow, but stopped mid-reach - cursing his shaking hand - a revolver had caught his eye.

Once, McCree’s Peacekeeper had been withheld by an airport’s customs. He had to wait a month before it could be processed and returned to him. Overwatch had insisted he keep in practice, so he worked with this revolver for the time being. Every time he had to use it, he would find something complain about. The weight, the noise, the colour. Hanzo was the only agent who still found the insults towards the gun entertaining, even after McCree’s whinging had been ongoing for several weeks.

Hanzo took the gun and made his way to the ammo cabinet, unlocking it with his agent ID. Usually his firearm practice was done with pistols, and the only time he had shot a revolver was when he and McCree’s hotel room had been broken into. The revolver had been the closest weapon at hand, and he was a man who protected the ones he loved with any tool necessary.

Revolvers were impractical. They fired slowly and had extremely limited ammo before they needed reloading. He fired the six-shooter for about half an hour. His aim wasn’t perfect. He hit the target every time, just rarely in the bullseye.

He emptied the gun again, and looked at the packet of ammo. The thought of fumbling the bullets into their slots for a fifth time almost gave him a headache. He was indefinitely more impressed by how McCree could somehow reload this thing mid-barrel roll. He replaced the ammo back into its locker, noting how his hands were still shaking. He told himself the shaking was from spending 30 minutes of trying to control recoil of the gun. He knew he was lying.

He replaced the gun in its stand and left the building. Outside, the sun had only just begun to set. It had shifted to an orange hue. Soon it would be the dark red colour which McCree absolutely adored. The cowboy loved the motif of the red sun so much. His phone’s wallpaper, his laptop background, the posters in his room; all depicted desert scenery with a bright red sun, casting the images in an orange leaning palette.

“What are you moping about old man?” Hana’s voice piped up from several metres behind him.

“My husband’s cowboy fetish,” Hanzo said. He hoped that she would not fret over him. He didn’t want her concerned. He was fine. He was okay. He didn’t want more unnecessary worrying.

“You only noticed now?” she joked back. “Thought the cowboy hat at the wedding would’ve given it away.”

She didn’t leave, instead she came up to stand beside him. They were near a cliff face, in front of them, the ocean. Behind them stood Overwatch’s Watchpoint Gibraltar. A place which they called home.

“You miss him, yeah?” she said.

“Of course I miss him,” Hanzo replied.

“He’ll be back in a few days,” she said.

“I know.”

“You don’t gotta worry. Our missions might not be examples of perfect work safety, but they’re never too dangerous.”

“Hana, there hasn’t been a month since I joined Overwatch where one of my friends has not been shot.”

“You have a lot of friends,” she said.

“Friends who are around a lot of bullets.”

“They aren’t around a lot of bullets,” Hana said, and her eyes seemed glassy as she kept them fixated on the ocean below. “I know a lot of bullets. I know a dangerous line of work. I know war. It’s not safe, but it’s not as dangerous as it seems. This is not a lot of bullets, Hanzo.”

Hanzo looked at the girl… no, the woman. She was a woman. She may be half his age, and she may have been a teenager when she was recruited, but she was a fully-grown woman. An adult who was forced to grow up too young, but an adult nonetheless.

“Before Overwatch,” Hanzo began, deciding that if he was going to confide in anyone, it should be Hana. “I only cared if one person returned home safely. After Genji was gone, there was no one. And even when he came back years later, I only cared about Genji returning.” Hanzo relented that it was okay to let a little bit of his fear show. “What is it like? When they don’t come back. I’ve never experienced it, and I am afraid of what will happen if I do. Do you know when they are not going to return? Even if they are very far away, can you feel it when they…”

Hana ran a hand through her hair and a heavy sigh passed her lips. “You know. You know they won’t be back. But you don’t. You can’t predict the future and you can’t even predict the present. But… you know if they’re saying ‘see you soon’ and they’re lying. And you know if the odds are against their favour and they’re saying ‘I’ll be fine,’ and they’re lying. You know if they’re lying. And if they’re not, and they really believe they’ll be back, then you hold onto the hope they have. You hold onto that positivity. But you know… you know.” She went silent, and Hanzo noted how red her eyes had become.

He swallowed even though his throat was dry. “After I met Jesse, there were two people I cared about keeping safe. There were two people whom I needed to come home. And then there was three, me. For the first time, I cared about whether I came back. Because I knew it would hurt him. And then there was you, and Satya, and everyone else. But it is me who I still struggle with. If I don’t come back, will he… Will McCree be alright?” Hanzo turned to her and she finally broke her stare at the ocean to hold his gaze. “Will he be okay if I die?”

“Yes. He will be okay.”

“He’s been left behind by so many before. Ana, Jack, Gabriel… is it selfish to assume that if I don’t come back he will not survive?”

“No, it’s not selfish. He loves you and he’ll hurt real bad, but he will be fine. He has too much fighting to do. He’s still driven by his need to redeem himself. Just… try your best to return next time you got a mission, yeah?” she said, a smile crossing her face despite the few tears which were trickling down her cheeks.

“And you.”

“Always.”

The sun hit the water, and they both watched silently as the ocean was set ablaze. Every day, no matter how mundane, went out with a bang. An explosion of light across the water. Soon the colours settled and only the small glow of light came from where the sun was disappearing. In the darkness Hanzo noticed bugs starting to encircle them, fluttering and fumbling around, lost without the sun to guide them. Somewhere far away, his lover was sleeping through the sunrise in a fever dream.

“Hana, you know that I love you,” Hanzo said. “It is not easy for me to say. Even with Jesse I should’ve said it sooner. I should say it more.”

“I know. I love you too,” she said. “I learned to say it to my friends pretty quickly, but even still, I don’t think anyone says it enough. Everyone wishes they said it more, but they never do. But it’s okay, because friends know. They know.”

“Is it easier to know if someone loves you, than to know that they aren’t going to survive a mission?” Hanzo asked.

“Wow, melodramatic gay uncle alert,” Hana said, a good indication that she had recovered from the emotional state she was in a few minutes ago. She also noted that Hanzo was still anxious and upset. “He’s alright. We have safe missions with good plans.”

Hanzo saw a shiver run up her body, a response to the growing cold. He reached out, intending to wrap an arm around her shoulders to warm her, but in mid-air he saw his hand shaking just as it had been since midday. His shoulders sunk in defeat. The many emotions running through his mind had finally taken control of his nerves too. He couldn’t contain the fear any longer. He couldn’t hide it. Hana stared at his shaking hand, and she watched the jitter run up his arm until his shoulders shook too. His lungs took a raggedy breath and the broken exhale made tears fall down his face. In turn, his knees grew weak.

Hana stepped forwards and caught him just as his legs gave way. She wrapped her arms around his trembling form, holding him up with ease. In his state, he felt like a child. A man in his early forties, being cradled by a young woman. And dammit, he didn’t care. He had a right to be held. He had a right to be comforted. His husband was far away, so he would fall on his friend for the task, even if the falling was somewhat literal.

His arms dangled in the air, as he let more sobs escape him. “Just once - I want to kiss him before he leaves - without fear that it will be for the last time,” he said through shattered breaths. He was uncertain whether the words would even make sense to her. His body shook again as he struggled to breathe. Her posture did not falter. She still had her military trained body and held him with ease. Deep within his large pool of anger, Hanzo reserved a small amount of the emotion specifically for the next person who dared to call her a weak girl.

Slowly, he reached his hands up and gripped her shoulders, holding her in-kind. And finally, his body was still.

Against her form, Hana felt a man who was tired. Tired of fighting and tired of running. Tired of putting on a strong face. Tired of pretending to be an emotionless machine who knew only anger. She held a man who was her friend. A man who had a right to be tired, and afraid.

 

When McCree returned, nothing about their lifestyle had changed. The last remnants of his flu wore off quickly and life resumed to the way it had been going for years. He and his husband spent several weeks enjoying the company of their friends and simply each other. Soon, Hanzo was assigned to a two-week mission.

McCree sat on their bed, watching Hanzo flit about the room to ensure that nothing had been forgotten amongst his supplies.

When Hanzo went to triple check that his toothbrush was packed away with his toiletries, McCree groaned and fell back onto the bed. He reached over his head, waving his hand haphazardly before grabbing hold of the wedding photo. He placed his thumb idly on the frame where below, Hanzo’s face watched him. It was his favourite photo.

“Okay, I am ready,” Hanzo said, standing in front of his zipped suitcase with hands on his hips. “I will call you when I reach the airport. It should be about 10:30 but it may be later depending on how strict security is following the recent attack.”

McCree tossed the photo aside knowing that it would land safely on the soft blanket. Standing up he made his way to his husband, a short journey due to the small size of their room. He brushed Hanzo’s fringe behind his ear, before placing both of his hands on Hanzo’s waist.

“Alright darlin’. You come home safe now?”

“Of course,” Hanzo said. He reached up and gave his husband an intimate, but short kiss. “I always do.”

“I know you do, Hanzo. I know.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> I always write to a song  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3lUYsvoFtIo  
> hmu at tumblr or here if u want  
> http://apocahipster.tumblr.com/


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